Trash List
by
Louise Guardino

"Outta my way, cat." The stupid animal nearly tripped me up as I moved through the house, grabbing stashes of cash hidden in a coffee can, under the bed, and in the bureau drawer. Easy pickings. All told, five minutes elapsed. DVD player, last season’s Thinkpad,, and a stack of computer games, cushioned within towels fit nicely in my travel bag. 
"Outta here!" I shook my leg. The cat swished its tail and stared. I turned into a workroom. A sweet set of wrenches, shiny new, found their way into the bag. Whoa, there, boy! What’s that? A PDA? I almost missed it next to the meat cleaver. About to sweep it into the bag I decided to see what these geeks were into. Zoom, it powered up and I was into their appointments (the usual) and then their notes. Well, well. Lookee, here. A list. MURDER – out with the trash.. The last item, "do the deed" had a target date five days from now.. Murder, yeah, right. Joker had a sense of humor. On the list was a meat cleaver. Checked off. Nothing like getting the big items out of the way. I glanced at the rest of the list--black plastic bags, hacksaw, a bottle of Hennessy cognac, garden gloves, mechanic’s overalls, rubber boots, cap and mask. Were these jokers serious? Nah, body sculpting was way too messy for the people who lived here—models for Joe and Jane Silicon Valley.
By day’s end, I’d picked up a couple of thousand in cash. I didn’t need it. I’m a geek-freak .Got all I need. Call me a Valley survivor. I got mine while the getting was good. Some people get off on puzzles, with me, it’s B&E. Rocking edge living!
Saturday. I can’t resist. Call it curiosity. It’s been five days since I’d been in that dot-snot’s house, helping myself. By the yahoo’s calendar, today’s the day for murder. None of my business, but I’m thinking I might like to throw one of those new wrenches into their plans. Maybe the list wasn’t for real--a game or contest. But, hey, until I know, I’ll stick to them like turd to a heel.
Out they strolled around eleven, carrying a shopping bag. They drove their PT Cruiser (they were into retro, it seems) into the hills. I followed. Up into another dot snot’s driveway they went. Shazam. I knew the place. Most geek-freaks did. Fact is, Joe and Jane’s former CTO Pusa Rhine lives here. Now she owned a network analysis company. I parked on the road.
Emerging from the woods behind the house, I saw the shopping bag under the deck. A glance revealed monkey suits and cutting tools --not a good sign for Pusa. I was over my head. Cop time. Yeah, right. What would I tell ‘em? It was meat cutting time? Based on a list I’d found when B&Eing? Forget that.
Shit. It was up to me. The thought of butting in –maybe getting killed—scared the bejesus out of me. Hmmm. I pulled on a Halloween mask and gloves and took the steps to the wrap-around deck.
The three were in the living room, rocking with Leighton’s "Pickel Park", the bottle of Hennessy on the table. I slipped into a bedroom off the deck. Pusa’s. Orderly, soft--except for the armoire-side-mounted 12-gauge. Nice touch, Pusa. I grabbed it up with a sweaty hand and went back out to the deck where I could watch the living room and hear the bullshit conversation.
With a move that startled even me, Joe, walking behind the couch, whipped out a pair of panty hose and next thing I knew Pusa was pulled half out of the couch, her arms raised to keep from being throttled. Jane was laughing, grabbing the victim’s feet.
Action! Roll ‘em! I stepped inside. "Fun’s over. Back off." The 12-gauge was convincing. "You," I told Pusa, "into the hallway." I backed into the hall, the gun on Joe and Jane. I motioned Pusa into a hall closet. "Stay cool, you’ll be safe," I told her then locked the door. "Whoa, there," I stopped the two edging towards the kitchen. I wondered if the gun was loaded.
"Who the hell are you? You can’t be serious," said Jane.
"Mouth off and you’ll find out."
"I don’t know what your game is," she said, "but we can work together here. You can have what you want. We don’t care."
"Yeah? And you want what? A little bit of murder?"
"Kinky not your style?" She gave me a seductive face. Give me a break! "We were just playing," she said, sliding her hand up her thigh.
Joe Schmuck made his move just then, diving and rolling behind a chair to the left. I hated to mess the place up but I let the 12-gauge bark. It was loaded. Blood sprayed the wall behind the exploding chair. I swung the gun to catch Jane halfway to the hallway. "Stop or be splattered." She stopped. "Back in here. Down on the floor." She did as she was told.
I used the panty hose to hog tie Jane. Joe was maybe a goner. Chair fragments and pellets had left their mark. Avoiding the blood, I grabbed and pocketed his untouched cell phone. I found a blanket to wrap Jane in and hauled her ass out to the PT. I dropped her onto the back seat.
Jesus, what a mess. Not what I’d wanted, but what the hell had I expected? You don’t put yourself in the middle of a murder and come off scott free. I stuffed the mask in a pocket and returned to my car. After calling 911 from Joe’s phone I turned it off. Half way home I destroyed the phone, discarding it in a sanitation fill.
Who knew why dumb-ass Joe and Jane, Valley hotshots, had decided to kill Pusa. Kicks-- competition? Didn’t matter, I thought as I hurried to the back of their house. Had to beat the cops here. I got in the same way as before, using the spare key I’d stolen months earlier while partying there. I scooped up the cat and a couple cans of food and hightailed out. I’d had enough gut churning to last maybe forever. Call me Joe Citizen now. Joe Citizen, cat owner. Who’s more squeaky clean than a geek with a cat—unless the cat happens to be a tiger? Which Delila, here, isn’t.


If she should be so lucky as to come forth with an idea after scrounging in the hodge podge of her mind, Louise Guardino then finds new ways to procrastinate. It's a miracle if a story emerges whole and not too deformed. Corrective surgery usually follows. And so it goes in steamy NC. Ad Astra.